


it's nine o'clock on a saturday

by Jelly



Category: The Dragon Prince (Cartoon)
Genre: F/M, Gen, Post-Book: Through the Moon (The Dragon Prince)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-08
Updated: 2021-03-08
Packaged: 2021-03-14 01:48:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,109
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29910306
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jelly/pseuds/Jelly
Summary: “What’s his name?” he asks gently.Rayla swallows the sob that builds in her throat because, as much as she doesn’t want to talk about it, she knows that she does because the thought of him, of going home to him, is the one thing that’s kept her going these cold and lonely months. She wants to refuse. She wants to keep it in, to hold fast for just a little bit longer, and maybe, if she stalls enough, she won’t have to think about him at all.But it’s too late for that, and she knows it.“Callum,” she whispers. “His name’s Callum.”[In which Rayla happens upon an inn run by a human family on the Xadian side of the border and finds herself talking a little too much]
Relationships: Callum/Rayla (The Dragon Prince)
Comments: 18
Kudos: 121





	it's nine o'clock on a saturday

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sasstridanddorkcup](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sasstridanddorkcup/gifts).



Being alone is harder than Rayla thought it would be, and it's a funny thing to think because she's been alone all her life. It's not like she ever had many friends, and her own parents had left for the Dragonguard so early in her childhood that she barely remembers what it was like to have them around to begin with. She'd turned against her team of assassins, and then her village had abandoned her, and she knows what it’s like to hang hopelessly over nothing because no one wants her—

But even all of that is easier than this.

This feels heavier in her heart than any pack she’s ever had to carry. It’s worse than any weight Runaan has ever told her to drag from point A to point B or any responsibility she’s ever willingly or unwillingly put upon her shoulders. Every night she spends like this is cold and quiet and agonizing, and every beat of her shattered heart reminds her that it’d stopped beating for her months and months ago. 

There are things that could make this better. Thoughts that could warm her more than any fire ever could.

She doesn’t indulge herself. She’d lost the right to the night she left.

One night, she finds herself in an inn only a day or two from the border. It’s run by humans, which is interesting to see, and something in her heart twinges because she knows this is only possible because of her and—

It doesn’t matter. Months ago, this would have been unheard of, and elves have never really bothered with inns to begin with but they must be enjoying the novelty because the innkeepers look as if they’re doing well. Rayla doesn’t have much to trade except a rabbit and some fresh berries, but the innkeeper’s wife takes one look at her when she pushes past the heavy oak door and decides it’s enough for a room and a hot meal.

(It’s not. Not really. Rayla’s not stupid, and she knows it’s pity in the woman’s eyes, but she’s been camping for weeks and a bed, even just for one night, is too much for even her to refuse).

The bread she’s given is fresh and fragrant, and the stew makes her stomach rumble louder than she wants to admit. The warmth of the hearth soothing. Her joints loosen and her muscles release the tension that’s been sitting in them for days, and it’s the most comfort Rayla’s had the fortune to find since—

She shakes her head.

It’s pleasant, and it’s comfortable, and she’s grateful for the opportunity to rest. 

“You’re awful young to be on your own,” says the innkeeper’s wife mildly. 

Rayla’s lips twitch at her. “It’s not that weird on this side of the border,” she says quietly, but the innkeeper’s wife only clucks her tongue.

“What side of the border you’re on doesn’t matter,” she says. “Someone so young shouldn’t be roughing it alone.”

Rayla scoffs at that because, no, probably not, but she’d chosen this and roughing it is the least she deserves. “I can manage,” she says drily. “I appreciate the hospitality though.”

“You’re very welcome,” says the innkeeper’s wife. She slings a dishtowel over her shoulder as Rayla finishes her stew and waves at someone behind the counter. “Luca. Bring this young lady a drink, won’t you? Heavens know she needs it.”

Luca, she supposes, answers with a vague, muffled-sounding, “In a minute!”, and the innkeeper’s wife rolls her eyes. 

“Make yourself comfortable,” she tells Rayla. “Luca won’t be long.”

There’s not much else to do, so Rayla shrugs and slumps in the seat. She fiddles with the edge of her cloak (which she hadn't bothered to shed because she hadn't thought she'd be staying that long) and it's only when a boy sets a jug of water against the table that she looks up again.

Her heart almost stops. He's her age, probably. Maybe a little younger. His eyes are kind and bright and green. His hair is brown and falls pleasantly over his eyes. Rayla half expects a scarf, a sketchbook, a charming, kind-of lop sided smile—

She looks away.

"Oh," he says. "Uh. Sorry. Mom said 'a drink' so I thought—" He clears his throat in a way that makes Rayla's heart ache more than it has any right to. "Can elves drink alcohol so young?"

Rayla draws a breath. She squares her shoulders and glances up at him with her lips pressed shut. Then she coughs too. "It's fine," she murmurs. "I don't need anything."

"That's not how this booking-a-room thing works," says the boy—Luca—drily. "I can get you some water—"

"It's fine," says Rayla sharply.

The boy purses his lips. Then he shrugs and pours her a goblet of something dark and red. She thinks it's wine. She'd tried a bit not too long ago; just a sip because she was curious and Cal—

"You know in some places, this is illegal," Luca is saying. "I guess it doesn't matter so much on this side of the border." He tilts his head at her like he's waiting for an answer, and when Rayla doesn't give one, he shrugs. "So you're… a Moonshadow elf?"

"Mm," says Rayla vaguely.

"Oh, cool," Luca says. He glances at the empty seat across from her, then at his mother, and then at the empty seat again. "Can I—?"

Rayla would really rather he didn't, but he doesn't wait for her to answer before he pulls the chair out and sits down. 

"We get mostly Sunfire elves here," he tells her. "I think Lux Aurea isn't too far away and there's all that stuff with resealing the Breach, and that Katolan General"—

Amaya, thinks Rayla, and her heart sinks more.

—"and the Sunfire Elf queen. It's crazy, huh? I didn't think I'd ever get to meet an elf and then the war ends and mom and dad move straight over here to set this place up. We've had all sorts of people come through since. None as pretty as you, though."

Rayla blinks. She stares at him from over the top of her untouched goblet. He blinks back.

"Oh," he says. "I said that out loud?"

Moon and Stars, he reminds her so much of—

Rayla's lips twitch. "Yep," she says. 

Luca chuckles as pink stains his cheeks. "Sorry," he says. "I—uh—I didn't mean—"

"Don't worry about it," mumbles Rayla, keeping her eyes on her goblet. 

There's a pause. Then Luca clears his throat. "Mom says you're out here alone."

"Sure am."

"Is… there a story behind that?"

Rayla doesn't answer right away. Yes, she thinks, and it's a hell of one but she's not sure she wants to tell him that. She fiddles with her own fingers beneath her cloak. Then she huffs. "It's complicated."

"You don't have to say," says Luca. He scoots his chair closer. "I dunno, you just seem like… you could use a friend."

Rayla wants to laugh. This must be karma at its worst. She could use a friend, but there's one in particular that she misses and this boy reminds her so much of him that it hurts. She forces her lips to tilt into a wan smile. She hopes it doesn't look as pained as it feels. "I don't need a friend," she says shortly. "It's—I don't need anything. I'm managing fine on my own."

Luca raises an eyebrow at her and she knows he doesn't believe her. He leans back in his chair and hums thoughtfully. "Well, if you don't want to share, I guess I'll just take my best guess," he says. He wrinkles his nose.

Rayla shifts uneasily under his stare. It's almost too much. This boy, with his eyes and his hair and his questions—he’s so like— 

"You ran away," he says. "From… home. I dunno, you seem a bit young to be, like, a runaway bride, but I never can tell with elves. But you definitely ran and you're… I dunno, it feels like you're looking for something, but I don't think it's what you think it is."

Rayla bristles. "What, are you some sort of seer?"

"Depends," says Luca. "Am I right?"

His gall irks her, but there's something earnest in his eyes that she can't find in herself to fault. She scowls and swipes at the goblet.

"Oh, I am!" Luca laughs, surprised. "All right then, you ran away. There's trouble at home. You think you're looking for a way to fix it but… no. You're looking for someone. That's it, isn't it? You're looking for someone specific?"

Rayla says nothing and he takes that as a win.

"Two for two!" He leans against the table and smirks. "I'm thinking… you're looking for a guy. Someone who meant something to you. It's some sort of forbidden romance kind of thing."

Here, Rayla does laugh. It's mirthless because no, definitely not, and because the words ring sadly in her heart— _"Kind of a secret forbidden-romance kind of situation?"_ She swallows and downs the wine in one go. “That's enough now."

"Well, I mean," says Luca slyly, "if that's not it, then—uh—maybe I could be—"

" _No_." Rayla snarls. She sets the goblet down with a little more force than she intends. Her cutlery rattles against the table. " _That's enough.”_

“Oh.” Luca shuffles back. The feet of his chair scrap against the floorboards and Rayla curses him—herself—because even the way he pouts reminds her of Callum. The ache flares in her chest, and she looks away, hoping he can’t see the way it scrunches her face.

Luca pauses. He frowns. “You ran from the guy,” he says slowly. “But you still—”

“I said _enough_ ,” snaps Rayla, because, yes, obviously, how could she not, after everything they’d been through and after all that he’d done? It feels like a dam’s burst in her chest because suddenly all the feelings she’d been trying so hard to keep bottled up are spilling outwards for the world to see. “I’m not interested. I don’t need a friend. I just need—”

The name hitches in her throat. How long has it been since it’s left her lips? How long since she’s let herself think about him?

She’s on her feet, she realizes. Luca’s leaning back in his chair like he’s expecting some sort of explosion. She steadies herself, and when her breath is even again, he smiles at her and leans his elbow against the table.

“What’s his name?” he asks gently. 

Rayla swallows the sob that builds in her throat because, as much as she doesn’t want to talk about it, she knows that she does because the thought of him, of going home to him, is the one thing that’s kept her going these cold and lonely months. She wants to refuse. She wants to keep it in, to hold fast for just a little bit longer, and maybe, if she stalls enough, she won’t have to think about him at all.

But it’s too late for that, and she knows it. 

“Callum,” she whispers. “His name’s Callum.”

Luca chuckles. “You miss him?”

Rayla nods before she realizes that she has. “Yeah. So much. He’s… he’s so kind, and gentle, and funny and—Moon and Stars, I don’t deserve him, but I love him and I—” She catches herself too late. Part of her wants to stop. To stuff it all back in again and to carry on like it doesn’t matter but oh, Callum’s changed that about her too. It doesn’t help to keep it all in anymore, and he and his stupid Big Feelings Time sit at the forefront of her mind desperate to be acknowledged.

And Luca waits like he knows she wants to talk about it. Like he knows it’ll help.

Rayla lets out a sigh. She’s so tired. She’s tired of missing him and of yearning for him and of wishing, every day, that it was as simple as going home. Because that’s what he is, isn’t he? The Silvergrove could never let her back in for all she cares—it’s not home anymore. Callum is, because he’s wonderful and brave and her heart wholly and unequivocally belongs to him.

“What’s he like?” Luca asks. 

Rayla settles back down in her seat and hides her face behind her hands. “He’s a mage,” she says quietly. “He… wasn’t really at first. He didn’t even know he was good at magic until we met, but he’s a quick study and it’s been like, two or three months and he’s already amazing.”

“Yeah?”

Rayla chuckles in spite of herself. “Yeah,” she murmurs. “I always thought humans were self-centred and greedy—no offense—”

“None taken.”

—“But not Callum. Callum’s the most selfless person I know. He’s my best friend and he loves me more than I deserve.”

Luca cocks his head at her. “Why would you say that?”

“Because it’s true,” mutters Rayla. “I—I’m not worth whatever he thinks I am. I’m a mess of a Moonshadow elf and everything I touch falls to pieces. It was only ever a matter of time before I broke him too.”

“Yeah, okay, now I know that’s not true—”

“It is.” Rayla scowls at him. “I left him. He loves me with all of his heart. He gave me a home when I didn't have one. He jumped off the damn Storm Spire for me, and I threw it in his face!"

“All right, I’m gonna stop you there.” Luca looks at her with a stern looking frown before he fills up her goblet again and slides it across the table back to her. “Wait. Did you say he jumped off the Storm Spire for you?”

"Yeah, because he's an idiot—"

"The big mountain thing all the elves talk about? Where the Dragon Queen lives?"

"I mean—there's only one—"

"But then—" Luca falters. Then his eyes go wide. "Oh. You're _that_ Moonshadow elf."

"Excuse me?"

"Which means this Callum guy is— _oh._ "

Rayla stares at him. She supposes it makes sense—Callum's a prince, after all, and it does seem a bit ridiculous to think other humans don't know of him—but still. She ducks her head, guilty and self conscious of the way Luca ducks his own.

"Sorry," he says. "If I'd known—"

"Just leave it, okay?" mutters Rayla. "If I wanted people to know, I would've—" She shakes her head. "Never mind. I don't want to talk about this anymore."

"But—" Luca scrambles for a bit looking unsure. "My Lady," he says at last. (Rayla winces because it reminds her of the days in the castle, where the staff would stumble over themselves about how to address her. It was Callum's idea to give her a title. Her heart stutters at the thought of him). "Sorry—uh—look. The people who pass through here—they've all heard of you. They talk about you and His Highness like you're the lovers from all the poems."

Rayla shrinks into herself and keeps her eyes on the table. "They shouldn't," she whispers. "I left him. I thought I was doing it to keep him from getting hurt but—" She sucks in a breath. "How could I do that? How could I leave someone as kind, and as loving, and as brave as him?"

Luca says nothing for a while. He fidgets with the dishcloth over his shoulder and breathes in, long and deep and slow. “With all due respect, My Lady,” he says quietly, “I think… you’re scared.”

“Excuse me?”

“Of losing him,” Luca adds quickly. “I’ve heard the stories. Everyone has. He jumped off the Storm Spire for you, and I’ve met you now, so I know… it’s not something so unbelievable. But… love like that… it’s reckless, you know? And… I dunno why you left, and you definitely don’t have to tell me, but if it were me, I wouldn’t want that from a partner either. I wouldn’t want to see them put themselves in that kind of danger for me.”

Something settles in Rayla’s gut. Vindication, she thinks, but it’s not as satisfying or as helpful as she thought it would be. It’s strange to hear her own logic coming from someone else, but it's off because… she knows it doesn't make sense. She knows the flaws in her own argument. She knows she'd messed up. "You don't have to pretend I did it for a good reason," she mutters.

"I'm not," says Luca. "You had your heart in the right place. You did it because you love him. But..." He pauses there, like he's not sure if this is maybe going too far, but in the end, he leans across the table and takes her hands in his. "But he loves you too, My Lady, and a good reason or no, he'll be out there, looking for you. You know that don't you?"

She does, but Rayla hopes with all her heart that maybe she'd broke Callum's enough that he wouldn't want to. She tugs her hands out of Luca's and gets up. "I'm done now," she mutters. "I'm going to my room."

Luca hesitates. Then he nods. "Of course. It was lovely to meet you, My Lady. Sleep well."

Rayla tries to leave before dawn the next morning because she's imposed enough, and because last night was too much. She does miss Callum, and she hates herself a little more every day for shattering him the way she had—but Luca is waiting for her by the counter with a loaf of bread and a jar of honey wrapped carefully in a blanket much better suited to the weather.

"From my mom," he says. "Safe travels, My Lady. And when His Highness catches up to you, I hope you have the chance to talk things over."

"He won't catch up to me," says Rayla shortly, but Luca only smiles.

"He will. And I think you know that too." He pats the little package of bread and honey and steps back towards the kitchen. "See you around, My Lady. Be safe."

Three days later, when Callum happens upon an inn run by a human family on the Xadian side of the border, the innkeepers' son serves him a pot of tea with a smile.

"Your Highness," he greets with a bow. "We've been waiting for you."

Callum stares. "Excuse me?"

The boy chuckles. "We wondered how long it would be before you came by. Her Ladyship went east. When you catch up to her, tell her I told her so. She'll get it."

**Author's Note:**

> This was supposed to be a drabble lmao


End file.
